


if tomorrow never comes

by buttered_onions



Series: Find Home Again: Shiro Week 2017 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Keith (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Matt features briefly, Shiro Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 08:58:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12767505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttered_onions/pseuds/buttered_onions
Summary: Of all the reasons why Shiro had missed their date,time travelis the last thing Keith expects to hear.A fill for Shiro Week 2017, day one: time/space.





	if tomorrow never comes

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to a bunch of people who made this possible. [gitwrecked](http://gitwrecked.tumblr.com) for letting me yell about this and finding the best song for it; shoutout, of course, to [Erin](http://atimelordswife.tumblr.com) for the original prompt. This is still for you, albeit now much longer :) Ultimate thanks to my dear friend [bosstoaster](http://bosstoaster.tumblr.com) for the motivation and the push to get stuff done for this week beyond just running. And thank you [andy](http://ashinan.tumblr.com) for the hand-holding and the screaming.
> 
> This is something different for me. I hope you enjoy <3

Of all the reasons why Shiro had missed their date, _time travel_ is the last thing Keith expects to hear.

“I understand if you don’t believe me,” Shiro says. They’re sitting outside a café well away from the Garrison. The late autumn heat rolls off in the desert. Shiro’s bike is parked nearby. Keith had walked. “But I didn’t want you to think I stood you up. I wouldn’t do that, Keith.”

“I know,” Keith says. The words bubble up from inside him. He couldn’t have stopped them if he’d tried.

“Yeah,” Shiro says, thickly. “Yeah, I - it’s just important to me that you know, I guess.”

Dust swirls lazily in the street. Keith’s paper cup burns between his hands. Shiro shifts next to him, just a little. Their sleeves brush, accidentally. Just enough.

“I understand if this changes things,” Shiro says, softly.

“It doesn’t,” Keith says.

 

Still, Keith doesn’t entirely believe it until the first time Shiro disappears in front of him.

It’s just like out of a movie. They’re studying together, Shiro for a test in his upper units, Keith getting ahead on lower material, when all of a sudden Shiro sucks in a breath, sharp through his nostrils like someone’s pulled all the air out of his lungs.

“What?” Keith asks, startled nearly to dropping his stylus. “What’s wrong?”

Shiro’s staring at the back wall, eyes blown wide. His stylus has dropped from loose fingers to the table. His hand’s crept up to his sternum, fingers rubbing almost absently over his collar.

“Keith,” Shiro says, and something about his voice is different - like he’s half-there, like he’s - Keith sits straight up. “Remember what I told you a few weeks ago?”

Unease settles low in Keith’s stomach, creeping in like a thief. “Yeah…?”

Shiro opens his mouth to say something else. He doesn’t quite manage it. His lips curl up into an apologetic half-smile, and then he turns his head to the side, like he’s hearing something Keith doesn’t. Between that instant and the next - he disappears.

Just like that. There one moment, gone the next. Keith’s left sitting at an empty table, staring slack-jawed at the window behind an empty chair.

“Shit,” he says, aloud.

 

Shiro comes Back a few hours later, stumbling through the door of his dorm room like he’s had a little too much to drink. Matt and Keith both leap up from where they’d been sitting - Matt in his desk chair, Keith on Shiro’s bunk - but Shiro waves them back down.

“Where this time?” Matt asks.

“Dinosaurs,” Shiro says, taking the bottle of water Matt hands him. Shiro uncaps it, drinks half of it in one go.

“Really?” Keith blurts.

Matt snorts. “No. Don’t believe him, Keith, there’s nothing prehistoric about our Shiro. He’s been saying ‘dinosaurs’ as long as I’ve known him.”

“But,” Keith starts.

“I really can’t say,” Shiro says, with that same half-apologetic smile, and he looks so tired that Keith doesn’t have the heart to press. “Keith, I don’t want to kick you out, but I need to lie down for a minute.”

“Oh,” Keith says, heat rushing to his face. He’s sitting on Shiro’s bed; of course he’s in the way. He starts to scoot towards the edge. “I can go - “

“Don’t go,” Shiro murmurs, catching Keith’s wrist. “You can stay. If you want.”

“Saps,” Matt says, turning back to his homework, but it’s with an affectionate and exaggerated eyeroll. He dodges the empty water bottle Shiro chucks at his head.

Keith stays.

 

Shiro falls asleep easily, pressed back against the length of the wall. Keith half-sits, half-lays next to him on the mattress and listens to the soft sounds of Shiro’s breathing, thinks about all the ways his life is changing and the warm, terrifying tender burn in his chest.

 

“It’s hereditary,” Shiro says, later that night. He and Keith are curled up on his bunk still. Keith doesn’t have it in him to be anywhere else. “It happened pretty often when I was young, but my family usually grows out of it. Except my mom’s brother - it’s not unusual for him to disappear during Thanksgiving dinner. Dad says that’s not Traveling, just avoiding the dishes.”

“How often was often?” Keith asks, despite himself. The color’s back in Shiro’s face now, the dim lighting playing across the skin of his cheeks, shining in tired but warm eyes.

Shiro shrugs. “Often enough. The Travels are shorter when you’re really little. Self-preservation, I guess. They got worse at puberty, but I’m much better at controlling them now. Promise.”

“Better,” Keith repeats, slowly. The metal of the headboard is cool against his back. “Do you choose where you go?”

“No,” Shiro says. “I couldn’t tell you even if I did. That’s an ironclad rule, Keith. I’m sorry.”

“Dinosaurs,” Matt chimes in, from the top bunk.

“It’s only a few times a year now, anyway,” Shiro says, ignoring Matt. “And it might not be forever. My aunt grew out of it.”

Keith frowns. “Do you chose _when_ you go? You missed our first date.”

“I did,” Shiro admits, after a pause in which the room is too big and Keith barely remembers to breathe. “And the answer is - sort of. There’s a method my family uses to put the Traveling off, but I’m not very good at it yet. My dad’s been teaching me, but the bottom line is it’s just easier to go, when the Travel comes. That’s the theory, anyway.”

“There’s a theory?” Keith asks, interested.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Matt says, finally swinging his head down from the top bunk. “All the research says -"

“You aren’t supposed to _research,”_ Shiro groans, and the night dissolves into bickering and laughter.

 

Shiro Travels three more times that year. He’s never gone long, re-appearing in his dorm room a handful of hours later.

“Do you always return to the same spot?” Keith asks, after the second time.

“I need an anchor,” Shiro admits, letting Keith push him down to sit on the bed, accepting the bottle of water Keith hands him. “It’s usually a space, yes. It was the kitchen in my mom’s house before I came here; this dorm room works, most of the time.”

“A place, then,” Keith says, aloud. “Do you ever - do you pick?”

“No,” Shiro says. He takes a long drink of water before continuing. “Not consciously.”

Keith has to. He has to ask. “Would it….do you ever come back? To a person?”

Shiro hesitates.

“Sometimes,” he says, at last. “Some of my family members have, but like I said, it’s not entirely conscious. My dad could always find my mom - "

The words bubble out before Keith can stop.

“Let me be your anchor, then,” he says. He wants this. He _wants_ this. Shiro gapes, water bottle loose in his hands. Keith presses on. “We won’t always be here. What will you do when you’re not in the dorm anymore?”

“There’ll be somewhere else,” Shiro says.

“Sure,” Keith says, “but I’ll be there too, Shiro. I’m not going to leave you, no matter where or when you go. I’ll be here.”

Shiro stares at him, slack-jawed. Keith stares back and holds his ground. His heart is pounding in his chest. This isn’t too soon; it’s been months, now. This isn’t too soon; it’s been long enough. Keith doesn’t have things that last a long time. Keith’s not letting this one go.

“It shifts,” Shiro starts, weakly.

“I won’t,” Keith says, firm.

“Keith,” Shiro tries, shaking his head. He sets the bottle down on the nightstand, folds his fingers. Thinks better and smoothes out the fabric of his pants instead, hands nervous. Voices rise and fall in the hallway outside. Keith stands his ground, unwavering. “I - appreciate that. But this is - risky. I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Tough,” Keith says, “I’m volunteering. What’s risky about it?”

“You don’t understand - “

“Then tell me!”

“Me,” Shiro blurts, “It’s me, I’m the risk. This runs in my family, Keith, but that doesn’t mean we fully understand it. My great-uncle Traveled once and was gone for six months. We still don’t know what happened to my grandmother. There’s no guarantee - "

“But you always come back,” Keith interrupts, pressing forward. He pushes forwards until his knees bump against Shiro’s, until Shiro relaxes and lets Keith closer, lets Keith near. _“You_ always come back, Shiro. You come back.”

“I come back,” Shiro repeats, voice trembling. Keith runs his fingers through Shiro’s hair, around to the back of Shiro’s scalp; he can’t help it. Shiro sighs into his touch, a quiver of breath and release. “But what if - “

“I don’t care about ‘what if’s,” Keith says. Gently he leans in, knocking their foreheads together. Shiro’s bangs brush at his face, soft. “Not tonight. I care that you’re here. I care that you came back. I care about you, idiot. Just be here.”

Shiro exhales shakily, messily.

“Just be here,” Keith murmurs. His fingers card up into Shiro’s hair.

“I’m here,” Shiro promises, his eyes fluttering closed. “I’m here.”

 

Time passes.

 

“Where do you go?” Keith can’t help but ask, later on. They’re on the roof, he and Shiro, catching time and counting comets against the brilliant backdrop of stars. The late spring breeze brushes across their skin.

Shiro chuckles. “Let’s just say I aced history class.”

“Don’t joke,” Keith says, hitting Shiro lightly in the shoulder. Shiro laughs openly; the stars hear. Keith smiles, too. “I was being serious. Do you know the future?”

“Mm,” Shiro says noncommittally, tilting his head to smile at him.

“Shiro,” Keith wheedles.

“Parts of it,” Shiro admits, and that’s so much more than Keith’s ever gotten that he almost forgets to breathe. The starlight shines in Shiro’s eyes, deep and mysterious and alive. “But it’s possible they’ll never happen. The things I’ve seen - some of the places I’ve been don’t exactly make sense.”

“Oh,” Keith manages.

“Don’t tell Matt I told you,” Shiro offers, with something of a grin. The moment’s gone. “You’d never hear the end of it.”

“I promise,” Keith says, and casts about for a neutral subject change. A comet streaks overhead. Keith waves at it with one idle hand, pointing. “A lot of those tonight.”

“Meteor shower,” Shiro teases, by way of explanation. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“Didn’t,” Keith protests, and leans in when Shiro wraps an arm around him, tugging him close. Keith lays his head on Shiro’s chest, feels the sturdy beat of Shiro’s heart. He’s real. He’s here. “Do you think there’s other life out there?”

“I’m sure of it,” Shiro says, softly.

 

The last time Shiro Travels that year is by far the worst.

 

Keith wakes up one morning when the mattress shifts, earlier than normal. He blinks at the clock. Shiro has his big flight exam in two hours. Keith frowns.

“Shiro?”

Shiro’s sitting on the edge of the bed, feet swung down to rest on the floor. He doesn’t answer. He’s staring at the far wall, near unseeing, and his hand’s crept up to rub at his sternum.

Oh, no.

“Shiro,” Keith says, urgently. He scoots to the edge of the bed, crouches on his knees. Shifts around to see Shiro’s face. “Shiro, your exam.”

“I know,” Shiro says, faintly. There’s a thin crease between his brows; he blinks, hard. “I k-know.”

The little hitch in his breath is enough.

“Go,” Keith urges. “You said it’s easier not to wait, right? It’s okay, just go.”

“I wouldn’t be back in time,” Shiro groans. A shudder trembles through him, uncontrolled. “I can put this off. I know the theory. I can - I can do this.”

He’s so pale, shivering again as _something_ rages through him. Keith can’t take it anymore. He reaches out. His fingers wrap gently around Shiro’s, where Shiro is still rubbing his sternum. At Keith’s touch Shiro stills, some of the tension falling from his shoulders. Maybe that’s Keith’s imagination. He can’t be sure. He can’t stop.

Slowly, Keith tugs at their intertwined fingers, pulling Shiro’s hand free so Keith can catch it up in both of his, holding fast, holding firm. Holding.

“What can I do?” Keith asks. His heart’s in his throat.

Shiro offers him a weak smile, gripping Keith’s hand just as tight.

“Just be here,” Shiro says.

 

Shiro takes his test, passes with flying colors. Keith’s invited out to the end-of-year party, where Matt and Shiro and their other teammates are supposed to celebrate passing the roughest flight simulator the second years have to face. Shiro refuses to skip.

“How are you doing?” Keith asks, as they go. Shiro’s taken two minutes to duck into a corner, pressing now at his temples with a quiet groan.

“I can make it,” Shiro promises, low.

They go to the celebration. Keith’s glued to Shiro’s side. Keith watches the shadows grow longer, watches the clock, watches Shiro.

Shiro makes it most of the way through the party before Keith can finally convince him to leave. Matt hangs back at the party; Keith drags Shiro out, and they really don’t make it far. Shiro’s breathing hard, sweating as he leans against Keith. They duck into an abandoned hall; Shiro’s ID gets them into a classroom, empty and dark. Keith supports him in, closes the door quick behind them.

The second the door is fully shut Shiro’s leaning against it, both arms wrapped around his midsection, eyes squeezed shut and face contorted in a terrible grimace.

“Shiro,” Keith breathes, reaching out.

“I can’t,” Shiro gets out, the words a moan. He’s bloodless, practically, all the color leeched from his face. Keith’s hand grasps his shoulder; Shiro cracks his eyes open a sliver. He’s trembling, pale and sweating. His eyes won’t focus. “It’s - it’s _tugging -_ I can’t - ”

“Just come back to me,” Keith says, desperate. He doesn’t know what to do.

Shiro’s eyes meet Keith’s, begging, confused, and eerily only half-there.

“I will,” Shiro breathes, and then his eyes dart to the side as his head turns towards something Keith cannot see-

Then he’s gone, between one instant and the next.  Keith is left with his hand grasping empty air.

 

Shiro doesn’t come Back for three days.

 

“The longer you put it off, the farther you go,” Shiro explains, their last night before summer break. They’re on the roof again, watching the stars a few days after Shiro’s return. He’s a little pale, still, and Keith isn’t letting Shiro out of his sight. They’re on the roof, yes, but they’re lying down, calm and easy, with Keith’s head pillowed on Shiro’s chest. He’s warm. “That’s the theory, anyway. Farther, longer, my grandfather always said they were related. We think that’s what happened to my great-uncle. Nobody’s done enough research to really say for sure, though I’m sure Matt’s trying.”

“They don’t need to,” Keith says. “And I destroyed his research. Your secret is safe with me.”

Shiro snorts, startled. “You didn’t. Matt will kill you.”

“He’ll have to catch me first,” Keith says, grinning.

Shiro’s outright laugh echoes off the corners of the roof. “Thank you, Keith.”

“I told you, you can’t get rid of me,” Keith says. Research or not, he wouldn’t give this up for the world. “We don’t need that kind of research. Just stay.”

A gentle pause. Shiro’s arm tightens around Keith’s shoulders. “I’ll always come back, Keith. No matter how long it takes.”

“You’d better,” Keith huffs, and snuggles on in.

 

Shiro doesn’t Travel their entire next, and last, year.

 

“What if you get accepted?” Keith asks, after Shiro’s submitted the application for the Kerberos mission. “What if you - you know.”

“I won’t,” Shiro says, confidently. Keith raises an eyebrow; Shiro offers him a smile. “Dad thinks I’ve grown out of it. Didn’t Travel once all summer. And you haven’t seen me Travel all school year, right?”

“I haven’t seen it,” Keith agrees, eyebrows narrowing. “Are you putting it off?”

“No,” Shiro protests, hurt. “And I would tell you. I wouldn’t hide this from you.”

Shame burns at Keith’s chest. “I know.”

“Dad says I’ve grown out of it,” Shiro repeats, harder. “It’s not going to be a problem. Keith, I promise I would tell you.”

All the reassurances in the world can’t contain this one desperate worry. Keith can’t let this go.

“Your great-uncle didn’t grow out of it,” Keith blurts. “What if - "

Shiro shakes his head, frowning. “I can’t spend my life on a ‘what if’, Keith.”

“You said _what if_ to me first,” Keith says, hotly. “You said you might not come back, someday, what if you haven’t grown out of this at all? What if you Travel while on the mission to Kerberos? Where would you come back home to when you were done? Here? This dorm room wouldn’t be yours.”

“I wouldn’t come back here,” Shiro starts.

“The ship?” Keith demands, “Shiro, ships _move._ There’s no promise it’d be in the same place until you got back.”

“Keith, this is my _life,”_ Shiro says, just as heated. “I can’t put it on hold for a ‘what if’. Space travel is the entire reason why we’re here. The exploration Commander Holt has planned is one-of-a-kind. If I’m chosen, I have to go.”

Keith recoils, stung. The words ring in the air, sharp and cold. For a long moment they stare at each other, arguments and fears laid bare in the chasm between them.

Slowly, Shiro says, “This isn’t about the time traveling, is it.”

Keith looks away sullenly, down at his hands. This isn’t the conversation he wanted to have. This isn’t how he wanted this to go.

The mattress shifts as Shiro sits down next to him, as his knees press up against Keith. A warm hand grips his.

“I’m coming back, Keith,” Shiro promises, with such sincerity that Keith’s startled into looking up. Shiro’s gaze is earnest, deep, flecked through with worry - for _Keith -_ and an impossibly deep sense of _rightness_ that Keith’s always admired. Keith could lose himself in that gaze, that strength, that surety. Could drown in promises they both desperately wish were true. “I’ll always come back to you, no matter how long it takes.”

“You can’t get rid of me,” Keith chokes out. His voice is raw.

“I don’t want to,” Shiro says, soft. He squeezes Keith’s hand, a question. Keith grips back, a lifeline. “Will you stay?”

 

Keith stays.

 

Time passes. There’s interviews for Shiro, questions and examinations and meetings and press; there’s school for Keith, mindless and exhausting. There’s acceptance, from the mission and from each other. There’s promises, there’s goodbyes, and all too soon they’re out of time. The Kerberos mission launches. Keith watches.

Keith waits.

 

Shiro does not come back.

  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

It’s the longest Keith has gone without Shiro in living memory.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, eventually Shiro does come back, crashing an alien ship into desert soil. From there it’s a whirlwind of Lions, amnesia, Voltron and the universe. From there it’s a whirl of new friends and teammates, of galactic-scale urgency, and, finally, reacquaintance.

Finally, they have time.

Shiro and Keith fall back together like they’ve never been apart. Things have changed; things are different between them, certainly, but this?

This could never. Keith’s waited.

“You came back,” Keith breathes, desperate, into Shiro’s skin. There’s space in this bunk, too, space under the weird Altean lights on this foreign alien ship. There’s space here, while they’re waiting for the universe to awaken, to be saved. The two of them.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro whispers into his hair. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

They don’t talk about it.

 

“Did you Travel at all?” Keith asks, one quiet day well into space. The castle ship hums beneath them, awake and traveling too. Shiro hasn’t Traveled since his return, since all this began. “When you were with the Galra.”

“I can’t remember,” Shiro says, and there’s such honesty in his voice and in his eyes that Keith has no choice but to believe him. Shiro’s staring at the Galra arm, metal fingers clenched in a confused fist.

“Maybe you did grow out of it,” Keith suggests, laying a careful hand over Shiro’s. “Hey.”

“Maybe,” Shiro says, hoarse. “Maybe this stops it.”

His Galra hand is cold.

“If you never Traveled, the druids don’t know you have that kind of power, and they’d have no reason to give you a Time-Traveling Ceasefire Arm,” Keith says, sharp. “It’s not the arm. It’s you. If you’re not putting it off, you grew out of it. You’re here, Shiro. You’re okay.”

Shiro shivers. His shoulders shake. Something in Keith’s chest cracks, given long ago.

“Oh, Shiro,” he murmurs, and tugs Shiro close. “You’re okay. You’re here. I’m here, Shiro. Let go.”

Shiro folds into the embrace, fingers gripping desperately at the back of Keith’s shirt. He shakes, face buried into Keith’s shoulder. Keith holds him, holds him, holds.

“It’s okay,” Keith whispers, into Shiro’s hair. “Stay with me, Shiro. I’m here.”

 

Shiro stays.

 

They get through. They grow into Voltron, into a team, into each other. There’s Hunk and Lance and Pidge, Coran and Allura and these four weird mice that follow Keith around way more than is necessary. There’s Sendak; there’s leaving Arus. There’s ghosts; there’s Rolo and Nyma and rescuing Lance. There’s ways in which things go right, like the Balmera. There’s ways in which things go all wrong, like rescuing Allura.

Like this.

 

“Keith,” Shiro asks, exhausted in the sunset of an abandoned planet. They sit by a fire, their Lions stalwart at their backs. “Keith, if I don’t make it out of here - ”

“Stop talking like that,” Keith says, sharply. “You’ve gonna make it. You’ve seen the future, haven’t you?”

Shiro doesn’t answer for just long enough that alarm trickles in between Keith’s ribs. He glances over abruptly, wild. Shiro’s not looking at him, staring into the fire with a distance to his gaze that Keith’s afraid to recognize. The fire crackles, popping strangely. Something chills in Keith’s blood.

“Yeah,” Shiro says, thickly. Surprisingly. He swallows. “Sometimes. Yeah.”

It’s a startling revisit of a conversation Keith’s desperately wanted to have and to avoid.

“Has it happened yet?” Keith asks, carefully. The words trip off his tongue, straight into unmitigated disaster. Keith’s not supposed to ask. He’s not supposed to _ask._ “What you’ve seen.”

“No,” Shiro admits, and the noise is small and surprising. That’s desperation in his eyes when he looks over, real desperation and heartbreak and blinding pain. Keith’s heart leaps into his throat, tight.  “Keith, when it does - "

Keith can’t listen to this.

“Then you’re going to be fine,” Keith says, firmly.

“Just because I’ve seen the future doesn’t mean I’m in it,” Shiro says, wearily. Keith gapes, alarmed. “Keith, listen. I need you to - ”

“What are you saying?” Keith interrupts, in pure disbelief. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. You come back.”

“But if something does,” Shiro insists. There’s a rawness in his voice, in his gaze that steals Keith’s breath away, sinks his heart with that bitter fear long ignored, long buried. Resurfaced, now. Keith can’t breathe. “Keith, I need you to lead Voltron for me. If I’m not here.”

There’s a time and a place for subtle, and this is not it. This strikes too close.

“Have you seen that happen?” Keith demands. “Do you _know_ you don’t make it?”

“No,” Shiro manages. The word sounds like it hurts. “But Keith - ”

“Then stop talking,” Keith says, sharp. Shiro’s pale, and exhausted. He doesn’t know what he’s saying; yes, that’s it. Keith will forgive him this. That’s all, that’s all this is. “You’re going to be fine. You’ll make it through today, and we’ll worry about the rest later. Right?”

In response Shiro holds out his hand - his free hand. Keith scoots over, reaches, grips it fast.

“Try to get some rest,” he urges, interlacing their fingers together. He presses his hand over Shiro’s wound - their intertwined fingers, and doesn’t let go. “You’re gonna make it. I’m here. You’re here. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. He clutches Keith’s hand so, so tightly.

“I’m here,” Keith breathes.

 

Shiro is in the healing pod for two days.

 

Coran and Lance convince Keith to return to his quarters partway through the second morning, to take a shower while Hunk makes them all something to eat.

“Take a nap, too,” Lance suggests, but Keith’s pretty sure that won’t be happening. Not until Shiro’s out of the pod. Not until he’s sure Shiro is safe.

When Keith gets to his quarters, though, the panel at the door blinks warningly at him.

Someone’s in the room. Pidge, probably, checking that Keith actually went where he said he would. Fine. Two can play at this game.

“Pidge, I told you,” Keith starts, as the door swishes open -

He stops, cold.

Shiro blinks at him from the center of the room, jaw agape. He’s not in the Black Paladin armor. He’s not in any sort of gear for extraterrestrial adventures at all.

No, Shiro’s wearing the orange-and-white uniform of a student at the Galaxy Garrison.

“Keith,” Shiro says - a dark-banged, no-scar, _almost-younger-than-Keith-is_ version of Shiro. “Keith, is that you? What are you wearing?”

“Oh, shit,” Keith says, instead.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked what you read, please consider leaving me a comment! Comments are so encouraging and completely make my day over here <3 thanks for reading, and Happy Shiro Week! :)


End file.
